Blog Archives

No Horizon, by Adrian McRobb

30/8/2019

By the local highway
almost on the sand
there's a public by-way
which stands on private land

It's a kind of prison
surrounded by a fence
gives a nasty frisson
when you are passing hence

Caravans parked, neglected
of holidays unsure
no tow-hook detected
no engine's even purr

The Swifts looking for a Hero
the Avondale and Explorer too
tyre pressures nearly zero
they stand and spoil the view...

Mute, by Ana Marie Dollano

30/8/2019

Sharp ticking in my ears,
tick tock drumming, escalating, but I hear
nothing… nothing.

Destination, by Philip Galfano

30/8/2019

Over silent meadows
facing faded sunsets
they wander in the distance.
A familiar call
a welcoming invitation
and their bleating vanishes
like an echo between
a panting race
and the awaited destination.

The Crooked Tree, by Bruce Levine

30/8/2019

The crooked tree stands alone
Reaching for the sun
Half remembered, half forgotten
Lonely in its isolation
With
Limbs extending in a-symmetry
Branches growing
Where no branches should grow
Twisted upward toward the light
Yet
Darkness shrouding the branches within
Struggling for a place
No one knowing, no one caring
The crooked tree remains

The Towers of Didcot, by Guy Fletcher

27/8/2019

It is strange as the train to Oxford
screeches to a halt at Didcot.
The power station towers, like giant pots
have gone, blown up in just 10 seconds
dust drifting as if spirits,
a reminder that everything falls apart
and some must have watched with a heavy heart

as the ugly, beautiful towers
crashed down as if an earthquake.
I'm reminded of days long ago
and drunken weekends in Oxford town.
I used to pause and peer at the structures
as I waited for the connection train
yet now I'll never see them again.

A Shuttered View of Base Abstracts, by Adrian McRobb

23/8/2019

The cells in Nucleus prison
are full of wild Genomes
they've too many Combinations
and even worse Chromosomes
nature played a trick on them
during Recombination
and filled the poor Genomes
with a wild high elation
their DNA was twisted
in a most unnatural way
that's why in Nucleus prison
they must stay locked away...

The Ghost of You, by Ana Marie Dollano

23/8/2019

I sit by my window and watch
another sunrise in the company of
quietude, while spectacular shades of
orange, bronze, purple, and blue, splash
where earth meets sky, and I
think of you.
My tears have dried. I
can not scream, but only
watch,
and wait for any trace
of you.

S**t Happens by Pamela Kennedy

23/8/2019

First there were glasses and new teeth as well
Then I went through a hair loss spell
Now there's this thing that keeps my heart tickin'
Cause my all-natural one took a mean lickin'
All those aches and all those pains
They're all real, none of them feigned
The medicine cabinet is completely filled
With lots and lots of fancy named pills
I look around and what do I find?
Oh! No! Never mind...
I'm not ready to go there yet
That's just too permanent

Post Punk, by Ian Fletcher

23/8/2019

His eyes not tranquil
though tranquilized
his hair receding
like an outgoing tide
he’s slurring his words
after just a couple of beers
his past now but a dream
his future is no future
he’s living in a void
this reappearance
as unwelcome as
a nihilistic meme
that pops up on
my computer screen.

Isolation, by Guy Fletcher

19/8/2019

They live on the edge of town
in a house on a windswept hill.
The husband watches his ghost reflection
in the dilapitated living room window
as a torrent of rain furiously sweeps across.
His wife is confined to the bed, soft tomb,
he has too much time to contemplate doom

imagining bleak scenarios to come
as the indifferent oak hisses and water
drips from the ceiling like tears
yet it was once a dwelling full of mirth:
a photograph shows the couple smiling
with their child, it used to be a good life
but he will smile for the world...and his wife.

Words, by Ana Marie Dollano

18/8/2019

Scissors through paper, cut
like words plain-spoken, some
leave you... broken.

Of Wine, by Ana Marie Dollano

16/8/2019

In steady stream
cup after cup after cup… I
am a figment of your imagination

Castaway, by Adrian Mcrobb

12/8/2019

Dialling the familiar number
hearing the ringing tones
that no-one picks up
sending letters full of love
to that address, known by heart
only to have them returned unopened

Standing outside the house
broken windows of the soul
declare there's no-one in
introspective in her room
no perfume now or familiar odour
nor dressing table clutter

Leaves underfoot crunching, wrinkled, spent
mottled tones fading as old skin
hushed thought and sudden realisation
that she-is-gone
trans-parent, through that other door...

Thunderstorm Over Roath Park Lake, by Guy Fletcher

12/8/2019

The sun disappears, a dirty orange
and bruised sky frames the Scott Memorial.
Thunder growls as if a god
is clearing his mighty throat.
The earth is shaken by a violent clap
on this soporific afternoon,
fawk lightning cracks the sombre clouds
and the lake is now free from summer crowds

as a torrent of rain descends
which the parched grass gratefully devours,
the willow tree swaying in a strengthening wind
as I wander alone like some
mad philosopher soaked to the skin.
It is frightening, yet exhilarating
and a thousand circles form in the lake
to vanish as swiftly as a snowflake.

Enlightenment, by Ian Fletcher

11/8/2019

In the early times
there was much hope
as if I were a part
of some great game
with my own special
destiny still unknown
although somehow
under my control.

Yet the long years
did bring nothing
except this truth
that it is not I
who lives life
but life that lives
me and all know
what the end
of life will be.

Absence, by Ana Marie Dollano

11/8/2019

Hush is the sound it makes
The silence resonates...

A trickle, faint tinkle, an echo
Of longing
I thirst
For that single drop
To warm my spirit
Enkindle my soul
A sprinkle, a drizzle
To fizzle
My empty cup

I’m hoping, yearning, oh
But no… not a drop.

The Angel of Anne Frank, by Sankar Chatterjee

10/8/2019

Hiding in that dark Amsterdam attic
Facing annihilation, Anne Frank still believed
“…people are really good at heart.”
Little she would have known
German Gestapo would reincarnate
In American ICE agents in Mississippi.

Lillian, a little angel to Honduran parents
After kindergarten, coming to a ransacked home
“Where did Mommy and Daddy go?”
No answer, adults marching to detention centre.
Nearby, the strongman grinning with a wounded baby,
Just-orphaned, parents gunned down by his “hate merchants”.

The Angel of Anne protecting Lillian under her wings
Whispers “….this cruelty too shall end,
that peace and tranquility will return once more.”

Poetry – My Heart, by Arlene Antoinette

9/8/2019

My arms are mine/ my legs are mine/ my eyes, nose and mouth are mine/
but my heart remains/ in a neighborhood in Brooklyn, N.Y./ with memories from my youth/ both of which
are tied together perfectly with a bow/ and left on a stoop in Flatbush/ not waiting for my return/ not even missing me.

Freedom, by Mary Wallace

9/8/2019

He took off lightly ‘cross the field, I followed close at heel
Green grass, blue sky, a gentle breeze, we did a scottish reel.

He rested near an ancient tree, leant calmly on a limb,
As if he thought I’d need a break to finally capture him.

This dance, it happened in my mind, not actually him and me
A sigh escaped my saddened lips, how lovely to be free

Instead my children rescued him, returned him with a laugh
I wish I didn’t need their help to rescue my own scarf.

For Jane, by Bruce Levine

9/8/2019

A bunch of chocolate morsels
Just perfect for a Queen
Who craves a special holiday
And every day between

Written in celebration of National Chocolate Chip Cookie Day – August 4, 2019

Arcot Lake, by Adrian McRobb

9/8/2019

Mist rises from black water
coalesces into vague shapes
which half glimpsed disappear

Souls of swans glide serene
while horses charge their riders screaming
lovelorn lovers stroll then sink
out of sight in the corner of memory

Wet air drools on clothes and inhaled
breathing haunted atmospheres as dreams
which break upon the shores of reason

Wraiths float above the dark mirror
not sharing their reflections or thoughts
becoming us when the life-thread breaks...

Unfeeling, by Ana Marie Dollano

9/8/2019

The fog muffled the sound of voices
Then emptiness filled me
Inside

Culver Hole, by Guy Fletcher

5/8/2019

A rainbow arcs over Port Eynon
on this bracing December day
with clouds like Middle-Earth mountains.
Waves explode with futility
against immovable rocks
and I am exhausted after my stroll
to the weird, mysterious Culver Hole.

A stone structure is built into the cliff
with portals dating back many centuries.
Now it is low-tide, rumours abound
of smugglers alighting,
wild wind howling carrying the ghosts
of rugged men who came here long before
to this eerie part of the Gower shore.

Praying for a Blizzard, by Bruce Levine

2/8/2019

Summer heat
Lassitude permeating every pore
Wasted days
Too hot to even think
And moving takes more energy
Then it produces
With after-effects of permanence
In a single place
Unable to raise one’s body
Beyond a reclining chair
Heat rising
Steaming up from the pavement
In unending streams of perspiration
The only respite is recumbent
Drifting into a semi-comatose mixture
Of suffering and gloom
As days become nights
With no relief
But
Around May
To begin
Praying for a blizzard

Mustique, by Adrian McRobb

2/8/2019

Where palms wave
guilty ribbons kiss